First
by penelope lemon
Summary: Newt has been keeping a secret. Thomas sets out to uncover the truth. As he does, he discovers the story about a girl who was a ticking time bomb of sanity, a boy who blames himself for her death, a group of Gladers lost to Grievers, and a time when there were no Keepers, no serum and no way of knowing who had your back...and who was stabbing it. (pre-book/movie)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

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><p><strong>Authors Note: <strong>Hello and thank you for clicking on my first Maze Runner fanfiction. This story will be mainly movie based, with some elements pulled from the book, seeing as I haven't read the books in years. I'll probably pick them up again sometime in the near future. The timeline for this story may be a bit confusing, so I've added dates at the top to keep from it becoming a jumbled mess. It's rated T for some mature themes and to just be safe.

Newt was always my favorite character and even though Thomas Brodie-Sangster looks nothing like the Newt from the book, I still approve of the casting. The movie was great, I've seen it twice already, even though they had to change some things from the book. Anyone else feel the same way?

I hope I do this fanfiction justice. I'm trying a new style with short chapters but I hope it works out. Please enjoy and review if you liked it. Thanks!

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><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Thomas sighed and walked up to Newt, who was pacing in front of the doors to the Maze.

"Alby and Minho should be back by now," Thomas said quietly. After Ben had been stung, Alby had joined the Keeper of the Runners to retrace Ben's steps in his final moments. They left early this morning and the doors only had an hour or so before they closed. Thomas was starting to worry.

Newt paced back and forth a few steps.

"They'll make it," Newt said calmly, but even as he did, Thomas noticed his brows pinched with worry.

"Shouldn't we send someone out after them?" Thomas asked as Newt paced in front of him.

Newt shook his head. "It's against the rules. We can't risk anymore lives and Alby and Minho know better than to be caught out in the Maze at night. They either make it back or they're dead."

"But what if—"

"But nothing Tommy," Newt interrupted, "Alby knows what he's doing. He's been here longer than any of us. I know that they'll make it…they have to."

Thomas watched as Newt walked past the doors again, looking into the Maze. He didn't like seeing his friend like this. Newt was normally a calm and collected person, but right now he seemed to be slowly falling apart with each minute that passed without Alby and Minho returning to the Glade.

Newt finally stopped pacing and looked at Thomas, his features laced with concern.

"Where the bloody hell are they?" he asked quietly.

Thomas couldn't take one more second of it. He needed to find a way to distract Newt.

"You said Alby was the first Glader here?" Thomas said.

"Yeah," Newt replied absentmindedly.

"Then tell me about it," Thomas said bluntly, "I want to know more about the Glade, when you could count the number of Gladers on one hand."

"We've already told you everything you need to know slinthead," Newt answered.

"Not everything. I just want to talk Newt and this time I want the full truth."

Thomas reached over and laid his hand on Newts shoulder. Newt looked at Thomas and, seeing the look on his face, he nodded hesitantly. Talking was better than pacing around worrying. The two sat down in the grass near the doors.

"Alby is the one you should be asking this." Newt sighed.

"Well that's not exactly an option, now is it?" Thomas said.

Newt nodded and Thomas waited patiently for him to continue. Newt glanced around the Glade, as if searching for the right words. He suddenly seemed uncertain.

"Alby wasn't the first Glader out of the box. There was one before him...a girl."

"What?" Thomas practically shouted, sitting up straighter.

Newt reached over and clamped a hand over Thomas's mouth, "Shut it you klunk face! Do you want to hear the story or not?"

With Newt's hand still covering his mouth, Thomas nodded.

"Well then keep it down and let me talk. The first few months in the Glade were really hard. There was a lot of fighting and uncertainty and fear. It was a dark time and it seemed that Alby was the only one that came out stronger than before. That's why he was the leader; he had seen the Glade at its worst and he knew how to keep from repeating the past. The girl and some of the other first Gladers weren't so lucky."

"How come you have kept this a secret from the rest of the Gladers?"

"To give them hope," Newt replied, "They don't need to hear about all the dismay we faced before we became a stronger community. They don't need one more thing to bring them down."

Newt looked at Thomas, gauging his reaction before continuing.

"There's a reason we have so many rules. There was a time when we didn't have any rules; but without order, chaos ensues and that's exactly what happened the first year in the Glade. People were accountable for their own actions, there was no punishment. We started having problems; fighting and panic and death. So we created a system."

Newt glanced longingly at the doors.

"That's why Alby knows better than to break one of our number one rules. He's seen what happened before and he knows we can't let it happen again."

Newt swallowed and turned to Thomas, "Some of the other Gladers remember the girl, but not many. We don't talk about her anymore, mostly out of respect but for other reasons too. I'm counting on you to keep her story between us."

Thomas nodded and Newt looked out over the Glade at the few remaining boys, his gaze thoughtful. It was then that Thomas could see a change in his demeanor. He was no longer the usual charming, resourceful Glader, but a boy with wisdom beyond his years and eyes that had seen things the younger Gladers would shutter at. He seemed older, more vulnerable, and, if Thomas was going honest, a little damaged.

Newt tugged up a few blades of grass and sighed before continuing.

"She was the one that started all of this. She was the Glader that had to spend a month in solitude. Her name was Meg and she was the first Glader out of the Box."


	2. Chapter 2

**Month One**

Meg drew a shuttering breath, beads of sweat tickling the nape of her neck and her heart thumping fast. She was on her hands and knees inside a steel, cage type box. Wooden crates full of supplies crowded the cage with her. It moved upwards, like an elevator through a shaft.

Meg looked around frantically, using one of the crates to help pull herself to her feet. The sound of grinding gears and metal on metal echoed throughout the cage. It buckled and Meg's legs collapsed underneath her.

"Hello?" Meg cried but the only reply was the steel box groaning.

Meg pressed her back to one of the sides of the small cage, pulling her legs to her chest. Where was she? What happened? Where was this contraption taking her?

As these questions flooded her brain, Meg quickly began realizing that she knew the answers to none of them. In fact, as she racked her brain, she realized that she had no memory of anything; not places she had been, or names of friends and family or pervious conversations she had had. The only thing she knew for certain was her name, everything else was lost.

A new wave of panic began washing over Meg. She pressed her head to her knees and tried not to hyperventilate. She worked on trying to remember something, _anything_, but nothing came to her. She was completely lost; she had no idea who she was or what she was doing in the steel box.

Just then the elevator type box stopped abruptly with a loud crash. Meg stood up, her legs shaking and hands quivering from adrenaline and fear. She reached up and pounded on the top of the cage.

"Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

There was no reply but it wasn't like Meg expected one.

There was a loud groan and a first set of doors above her head opened up. It folded back on itself, shining bright light into the dimly lit shaft. Meg blinked, the sudden light hurting her eyes.

Meg looked around her small confinement. There where crates and boxes full of supplies. She began opening them up and pulling out their contents. She opened the first one and found it was filled with blankets and extra clothing. She opened another. It was full of gardening supplies; shovels, garden hoes and some type of seed. Meg reached her hand into another box but quickly recoiled with a yelp when the contents pecked her fingers. Inside, sat a large, clucking hen, eyeing Meg disdainfully.

Meg pursed her lips, rubbing her fingers. She leaned down and looked at the chickens and frowned. She moved a few boxes to form some steps and then mounted them, pushing open the second set of gated doors that formed the cage she was in.

Relief flooded Meg as she pushed the door to the cage open and pulled herself out, collapsing onto lush grass.

Meg frowned, her lips pursing together in confusing as she looked around at her new surroundings. It appeared to be a large courtyard, surrounded by thick cement walls that towered above her. Ivy grew down from the walls in twisted vines. In one corner was a thick grove of trees but that was it. The clearing was empty.

Meg glanced down into the steel box. She stood up, jumped back down into the box and began hoisting the supplies out, one by one. Once the last crate was out, she had to jump to pull herself out of the box again. As soon as she was out and the doors were closed, the thick metal doors unfolded and closed. The box descended back down to wherever it had come from.

Meg's gaze swept over the dell once again and she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted.

"Hello? Please, is anyone out there?"

Silence.

Meg swallowed.

"Someone, please answer me," she called, her voice was loud but desperate.

She turned in a full circle, taking in her surroundings, before walking towards one of the cement walls. She slapped it with her hands, as if to check and make sure the wall was solid. Meg began walking the perimeter, trying to find some clue as to where she was.

As she walked, something caught her eye. She paused and pulled back the ivy covering part of the wall. There was a silver plate that looked a little worn, with words engraved on it.

Property of WICKED

Meg cocked her heading, trying to see if she had any memory of what WICKED was, but nothing came to her. She shook her head, brows furrowed in confusion and let the ivy drop back to where it was hanging.

Meg glanced around again.

"Is anyone here?"

Silence.

She was all alone.

The few seconds of relief that had filled Meg quickly vanished, once again replaced with anxiety. Not only was she without her memory, she was without any company, and she was completely terrified to say the least.


	3. Chapter 3

**Month One**

Meg pulled back the metal doors to the box, as another shipment arrived. She looked at its contents but it was pretty much the same as it was the week before. Disappointment filled Meg as she opened the steel doors and began unloading the supplies.

There was a stack of two by fours with a small box of nails and hammers, a new pair of combat boots, an axe, strips of leather and a canvas tarp. On all of the crates, the now familiar letters, WICKED, were printed in white.

She still had no idea what WICKED was.

Three weeks; Meg had been keeping track of how long she had been in the walled clearing. Funny though, it seemed so much longer than that. Time had a tendency to creep when Meg had no one to talk to, nothing to distract her agitated mind, and, after searching every square inch of the glade, nowhere to explore. She dreaded every long, dragged out day she spent in the clearing and she was beginning to feel like the walls of her prison were closing in on her.

And that's exactly what this place was to Meg: a prison.

Meg jumped down into the steel box that she herself had climbed out of weeks ago, which seemed like a lifetime away now, and began tossing the supplies out. She them climbed out and closed both sets of doors. The sound of gears turning told her that the box descended back to wherever it came from.

Meg then went to separating the supplies. She pulled off her own flimsy shoes and pulled on the new boots. She tossed the canvas over the wood stack and picked up the leather pieces.

She looked up across the glen, at four chickens that were pecking mindlessly at the ground.

"What do you think?" Meg asked the animals, running her fingers over the leather, "Think this is strong enough to make a whip?"

Without waiting for a reply, Meg sat down in the grass and began braiding.

Even though the chickens never answered her, they were the only other things living, so Meg didn't mind asking them rhetorical questions.

Meg tugged at the leather straps, keeping them tight as she wound the pieces together.

The sun was hot and beat down on Meg as she worked, but that wasn't new. The sun was always hot. Her first week in the glen, Meg had suffered a severe sunburn that had blistered her shoulders and scorched her lips. After that she had been more careful, but three weeks in the sun, day after day, and now it didn't bother her so much anymore.

Meg brushed a tangled lock of hair from her face, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

"I'm not sure what I'll even use this for," she muttered to herself, "But I guess you never know, do you? I might as well be prepared."

Meg paused, her hands fingers suspended in the leather, "Prepared for what though? I've been here more than half a month and nothing had changed."

Meg glanced at the chickens, "I mean, why am I here in the first place? I don't know who I am, or what I was, where I am or what I'm supposed to be doing here."

The chickens just continued to peck the ground.

Meg could feel herself getting worked up again. She took a few deep breaths and tried to go back to braiding, but her mind was wondering again on things she couldn't control. She didn't want to get agitated, it was pointless and a waste of energy. But lately, it seemed to be happening more and more, and the more it happened the worse it got.

Meg wound the pieces of leather together, saying, "It's okay Meg. Calm down. Things will work out, I'm sure of it and until then I'll just keep doing what I've been doing."

Satisfied with her answer and once she regained some composure, Meg went back to fashioning the whip, trying to distract herself.

Life in her grassy, concrete, prison, wasn't so bad. At least she wasn't starving or fighting for her life. She was just _living_. If you could call it that. It was more like existing or surviving. Either way, Meg could have been dealt a much worse hand. As long as she kept reminding herself that, Meg managed to keep from losing her sanity after being in the glade for so long.

Feeling her stomach rumble with hunger at the thought of food, Meg looked at the chickens again. She set down the leather and stood up. Completely ignoring the axe that was sitting only a few yards away from her, Meg walked over to one of the hens and picked the animal up.

She petted its head carefully before grabbing its neck and giving a hard, firm yank. The chicken fell limp in her arms and Meg went to pulling out the feathers.

Yes, life could be worse. Even though at times, Meg felt like she was about to go completely insane, at least she had the bare necessities.


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Note: **Thank you for the continuous support on the story. I really appreciate the reviews.

As for the origins of Meg's name, I didn't have a specific scientist in mind. Her full name would have been Margret (or something similar) so I was thinking maybe Margaret Eliza Maltby, or Margaret Murray, or Margrete Heibery Bose. Thoughts?

I was also wondering how you guys like this style? I know the chapters are short and they kind of jump around, but the style is growing on me. I'll try and update more often because the chapters are short. And I know it's a bit of a slow start, but it will pick up soon.

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><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Thomas made his way across the Glade. He had been with Jeff. After he, Minho and Alby had survived the night in the Maze and returned to the Glade, the med jack had insisted that they rested until they regained their strength. Thomas didn't argue. He had been exhausted and wanted nothing more than an excuse to lay down for a couple of hours.

He had spent most of the day sleeping in the Homestead. Once he was feeling better, and Jeff had patched him up with bandages, Thomas headed out to find Newt and hopefully something to eat. It was getting dark by the time he finally left the Homestead.

"Thomas!"

Thomas turned to see Minho jogging up to him. Did the boy ever stop running? He slapped Thomas on the shoulder as a greeting, "How are you feeling shank?"

Thomas shrugged. "Like a million bucks," he replied sarcastically.

"Listen," Minho said, growing serious, "Thanks, for everything. I thought that we were goners last night. You're brave for coming after Alby and I like that. That, or you're completely mental."

"I'm guessing you don't give many compliments. You're awful at it."

Minho chuckled and shrugged, placing a hand on Thomas's shoulder. "Either way it's the thought that counts. I'll see you around Thomas."

Thomas nodded and watched as Minho headed off the other direction. He then made his way over to the Blood House and the paddock where the animals were kept.

"Hey Frypan," Thomas greeted the cook, who had a slab of raw meat thrown over the table.

"What can I do for you Thomas?" Frypan asked, sending the blade of his knife through the carcass.

"I know I missed dinner and all but do you have anything I could eat?"

Frypan turned his back on Thomas for a few minutes. He searched among the crates of non-perishable food before making up a plate for Thomas.

"Thanks," Thomas replied. He made his way over to the large bon fire and sat down on a stump, eating.

Newt joined him a few minutes later and once Thomas was done, he pulled him away from the fire towards the Glade walls. With a torch in hand, Newt led the way.

"Are you going to tell me more about the girl?"

"She had a name," Newt said evenly.

"Sorry…Meg. Are you going to tell me more about her?"

"I want to show you something." Newt said, searching the wall. They were standing where the boys had all scratched their names into the wall. Thomas noticed, with a lump forming in his throat, that Ben's name was crossed out. It was a nasty reminder.

Newt pointed at a name near the bottom of the wall. Thomas leaned down until he could make out what Newt was pointing at: Meg. It was scratched out in neat letters but time had worn the carving down and there was a clear strike through the name. Before Thomas could say anything, Newt moved to the other side of the doors, opposite of the names. He pointed again and this time Thomas could make out small tick marks along the wall that he hadn't noticed before.

"What are they for?" Thomas asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew.

"What do you think shuck face? They're tick marks for all the days Meg spent alone in the Glade. She stopped once Alby arrived."

Thomas's eyes roamed the marks as he counted.

"Thirty," he stated.

Newt looked at him, "Glad to know you can count as well as a four year old Tommy," he said lightly before looking back at the wall again, "She spent thirty days alone in this bloody hell hole all by herself. It was like solitary confinement magnified by the fact that she had no memory."

"Brutal," Thomas sighed.

"Tell me about it. Alby said that when he first saw her, she wasn't all there, you know? Said that she attacked him right as he climbed out of the box."

"Are you kidding me?" Thomas asked, the idea almost laughable.

New shook his head, "Apparently this place got to her. When I met her, she was more…stable…but still not quite the person I think she was before she got to the Maze. Alby helped her out once he arrived but I think this place changed her, but not for good."

Newt pursed his lips.

"I don't really know how to explain it. She had trust issues and she would get scared or angered really easily. She could be vicious one moment and completely vulnerable the next. I had to tiptoe around her emotions for the first few weeks until I managed to gain her trust."

"When did you get to the Glade?" Thomas asked.

Newt shrugged. "Three months after Meg. I was a replacement for a boy who barley lasted a week; the fourth Glader to arrive."

Thomas nodded.

Thomas watched as Newt reached up and ran his fingers along the marks on the wall. He thought that Newt was going to continue but instead, the boy glanced at him saying, "It's late and you had a long night yesterday. You're in for a long day tomorrow too so you should rest."

"But I want to hear more about the girl."

Newt shot him a look.

"Meg. I want to know more about Meg."

Newt shook his head. "We will talk some more later."

Thomas hesitated but then nodded and turned to make his way back to the Homestead. Noticing that Newt wasn't following him, Thomas turned back around and asked, "Are you coming?"

"In a bit," Newt said.

Thomas waited, watching Newt for a few minutes, tracing the marks over and over again with his fingers. Thomas could have sworn that he heard Newt whisper something, though he couldn't be certain.

Thomas frowned, debating whether or not to go back to Newt. He thought better of it though, and instead walked back to the Homestead.

As he laid down and pulled a light blanket over himself, Thomas couldn't help but think about the first Glader. It was bad enough having to enter the Maze like they did, but to do it all by yourself like Meg did? Thomas was suddenly grateful for the fact that he had Gladers like Minho and Newt and Chuck, irritating as they were, they were his friends and quite frankly, he didn't know what he would do without them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

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><p><strong>Month Two<strong>

Meg woke up abruptly to a loud siren sounding. The sound echoed around the glade, making Meg's heart thump with anticipation. She sat up and looked around.

What was happening?

Over the alarm, she could hear the grinding of pulleys working together. The box was making a delivery. Meg jumped up and pulled on her boots as quickly as she could, grabbing the whip she had finished a couple of weeks ago and jogging over to the metal doors that sat in the ground.

She hesitated and the siren died, leaving her in silence. Her heart was beating sporadically, having no idea what the alarm meant. The first set of doors began opening.

One hand on the whip, Meg stepped back a few feet and crouched low, waiting in the grass and keeping quiet.

For a few minutes, there was nothing. Then, the doors of the box flew open. Out climbed a boy.

Meg drew a sharp intake of breath as she studied the boy. He was tall and well-muscled for his age, which Meg guessed would be around sixteen. He had dark hair and dark skin and if he had been facing her, Meg would have bet anything that his eyes were dark too. Instead though, the boy climbed out of the box, his back turned to Meg.

Meg swallowed. She didn't know how to process the fact that another person had climbed out of the box, instead of the regular weekly supplies. Did she know him? Were they friends? Enemies? Strangers? Was he here to harm her?

Why, after all this time, would a _person_ be delivered instead of materials? What made this week different?

Meg began feeling overwhelmed. She needed answers.

She jumped up from her crouched position and the boy turned around curiously.

"Where—?" he began but never finished his sentence.

With a crack as loud as the sound of a gunshot, Meg flung the whip at the boy. It coiled around his ankles and she gave a sharp tug, pulling his feet out from under him. He fell and landed hard on his back, the wind knocked from his lungs. Meg tossed the whip into the grass and straddled the boy, pinning his arms to the ground.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" Meg growled, sitting on his chest.

The boy, eyes wide with fear, took a gasping breath. "I-I don't know!" he cried out, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Who are you?" Meg asked again.

"I don't know! I can't remember anything," his voice was growing desperate and fearful. He tried to move but couldn't under Meg's weight.

"You tell me what's going on!" Meg snapped over the boys pleading, "Why am I here? What is this place?"

"I'm telling you I don't know!" the boy answered. He tried to shove Meg off, but she wouldn't budge. He managed to free one hand, which he balled into a fist and hit Meg in the ribcage. She cried out and with a grunt, he rolled her off of him. He jumped to his feet, just as Meg reached for her whip again.

"Wait!" The boy cried, his hands outstretched in front of him protectively. Meg wasn't listening. She drew the whip back.

The boy lunged at Meg, tackling her to the ground. They rolled and this time, it was him on top of her, pinning her arms to the ground. Meg struggled against him, but the boy was easily twice her weight and she no longer had the element of surprise on her side.

"Take it easy!" The boy said, "I just want answers!"

"Let me go!" Meg cried.

And then they both shouted their next question in unison.

_"Are you the one that brought me here?"_

Both looked at each other in surprise. Slowly, cautiously, the boy released Meg's wrists and sat back. She propped herself up on her elbows and the two stared at each other for a moment, realizing that neither one was the threat.

"Who are you?" the boy asked breathlessly.

"Meg," she replied cautiously, "Who are you?"

He shook his head, glancing around the clearing. He climbed off Meg, stood up, and brushed the dirt off his pants, taking a few minutes before he finally replied, "Alby."

Meg watched him like a hawk watching a mouse. She pulled herself up and walked over to her whip, picking it up and coiling it up. Alby watched her. Her long blonde hair was tangled and braided out of her face. She wore rust colored, bibbed overalls, where she had cut the legs off and rolled into shorts. She had on a faded white tank top and combat boots as well.

"What is this place?" he finally asked.

"I don't know."

"Who put us here?"

"I don't know."

"What's beyond those walls?"

"I don't know."

"How long have you been here?"

Meg turned to Alby, her lips pressed together. "Thirty days," she replied solemnly than asked, "You don't…remember anything, do you?" she asked, almost hopefully.

Alby swallowed and shook his head. "Only my name."

Alby seemed to be handling his memory loss much better than Meg, or perhaps it was the fact that at least one of them needed to keep a level head; so Alby kept his panic to himself. He didn't want to scare Meg, she already seemed a little erratic.

Alby gazed around, taking in the walls, the forest and the grass. His brows knit together.

Meg who had been watching him said gently, "Welcome to the Glade Alby."


	6. Chapter 6

"Can you hand me that hammer?"

Alby held out his hand as Meg retrieved the tool for him. She handed it over, then walked back and sat down in the shade, watching him.

When Alby first arrived in the Glade, the clearing had had next to nothing in it. Meg had been sleeping under the trees at night and let the animals, three chickens and a goat, run amuck. A months worth of supplies sat virtually untouched near the wall, covered by the canvas.

Alby had talked to Meg about using the supplies to build a shelter, an idea she had not taken well to. Meg fought him for the first few days but then she reluctantly relented and let Alby begin building a shelter. She refused to help, with the exception of handing over tools and getting him water when he needed it. When she wasn't helping, she sat in the shade and watched him work.

Alby straightened and wiped the sweat from his brow. He glanced at Meg.

"Remind me again why you refuse to help?" he asked, a little irritably.

Meg, pulled her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. "Building a shelter means making this place our home. It's not a home. It's a prison."

"Building a shelter means surviving this place, not making it our home," Alby retorted.

Meg glowered at him.

Alby shrugged. "Fine, but once this place is built, don't come knocking on the door."

"Believe me I won't," Meg spat.

Despite their banter back and forth, Alby and Meg had gotten along remarkably well for the time they had spent together. Meg kept to herself, and Alby respected that. Alby led and Meg complied. They worked and lived next to each other, but not with each other.

Meg was still unsure of Alby. He was a hard worker and a respectable person, but it was strange having another person living in the Glade. Meg wasn't used to it and she wasn't sure how much she trusted Alby. It was hard when neither of them had their memories. She couldn't ask him about his life, what he did in his spare time, his relationships, talents, pets or anything like that. It was hard getting to know a person, when they didn't even know themself.

Alby was wary of Meg too but for different reasons. She was a ticking time bomb of sanity.

Despite the differences, they had a strong relationship, if a little dysfunctional. After all, they only had each other, and each other was better than no one.

Meg stood and picked up Alby's leather canteen and made for the water pump at the opposite end of the Glade.

Something shifted in the dell. The animals went silent and the ground began to quiver. Both Meg and Alby stopped what they were doing and looked up.

The east wall began to groan then suddenly split evenly down the middle. The sound of stone against stone and metal gears grinding together reverberated around the clearing. Meg clamped her hands over her ears.

"Meg!" Alby called and ran to her side. "What's happening?"

Meg looked up at Alby, her eyes wide and fearful before she looked at the wall. It crept apart until there was an opening about 50 feet wide.

For a moment, neither of them said anything then:

"It's a door."

Meg turned to Alby. "What?"

"It looks like a giant door," Alby explained and walked to the side of the Glade. He glanced at Meg. "This hasn't even happened before?"

Meg shook her head and stepped up beside Alby. The doors lead down a concrete corridor, with high walls on either side, just like the walls that surrounded the Glade. They were built with crumbling some, and had ivy growing up the face. Turns forked off left and right from the main passage way.

"What do you suppose it is?' Alby asked quietly.

Meg looked at him. "You don't know?"

Alby looked at her quizzically. "Should I?"

Meg pursed her lips and Alby studied her.

"You think this is my fault, don't you?" Alby accused.

"Well these...these doors have never opened before, not until you got here," Meg explained, "It's just curious is all."

"Well I have no idea what this means or why it's happening," Alby said, "What do you suppose is past the wall?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Meg sighed.

The Glade was changing. After a month of monotony it was both refreshing and frightening. What laid beyond the walls? Meg wasn't sure and she wasn't sure she wanted to find out.


	7. Chapter 7

Meg crossed her arms as she gazed past the doors of the Glade.

Alby stepped up beside her.

"Ready?"

"No."

"Come on, we've talked about this. It's been more than a week since these doors opened. We need to see what's on the other side of them," Alby explained gently, "We can't just sit here in the Glade Meg."

Meg rubbed her arms, despite it being almost unbearably hot.

"But what if we're not supposed to? What could be beyond these walls?"

"That's what we are going to find out," Alby replied. He reached up, his hand hovering over Meg's shoulder like he wanted to comfort her. He thought better of it, and let his hand drop to his side.

"Smart choice," Meg said evenly and Alby had an overwhelming feeling that if he had touched her, Meg probably would have snapped his wrist.

"Let's just go," Alby said dismissively.

Meg nodded and stepped past the doors, Alby at her heels. They walked down the passageway, high slabs of stone rising high on either side of them. The passageway wasn't to narrow, and Alby and Meg could walk side by side comfortably. The stone was crumbling, seemingly only held together by the vines that coiled the walls.

It was darker and cooler walking down the passageway than it was in the Glade. The walls were high and helped blocked the sun.

They came up on a dead end, their only options to go left or right. Meg looked down one direction, then the other, then she looked at Alby who had his lips pursed. Meg turned right and headed down the next passage until she was forced to turn left.

"It's kind of like a maze…"Alby said gently, "Right, left, third left, right…" he repeated the sequence out loud as they walked.

Meg frowned but couldn't agree more with Alby.

"Why is there a maze out here? And why is the Glade at the center of it all?" Meg asked, glancing over her shoulder at Alby.

He shrugged. "I didn't have any answers before, what makes you think I have them now?" he asked sarcastically. Meg shot him a look and Alby sighed, "Sorry but I'm just as puzzled about this as you are."

Meg turned down another part of the maze, questions running through her mind. She'd been in this place for two months and hadn't received a single answer, just more questions. It was infuriating to say the least.

"Did you hear that?" Alby asked suddenly.

"What are you—?"

"Shhh! Listen!" Alby quieted. Meg did as she was told but couldn't hear anything. The passage way they were in was completely still, then suddenly there was a low grumbling and the cringing noise of stone on stone.

The wall to the right of them began moving, inching its way towards Meg and Alby, closing the gap that was the concrete corridor they were in.

"What's happening?" Meg asked as she watched the wall, her eyes wide.

"Move Meg!" Alby shouted at her and gave her a shove.

Meg began running forwards, trying to make it to the other end before her and Alby were crushed between the two giant slabs of stone. They had just over a hundred yards to go and the wall was closing in on them fast. Meg pushed herself, willing her legs to go faster. She hoped Alby was right behind her but she didn't dare look back.

They had two hundred feet to go.

One hundred feet.

Fifty feet.

Meg could feel her shoulders and elbows brush the stone as she ran. She turned her body to the side, trying to make herself smaller. Thirty feet stretched out in front of them but it might as well have been the length of the football field. Meg wasn't sure if they were going to make it.

The wall was pinning her to the side of the maze, slowing her steps. She cried out then lunged the last few feet to freedom, stumbling and falling to the ground. Alby did the same, managing to free his legs just before the wall sealed off completely.

The maze went quiet again.

The pair laid in a crumpled heap on the ground, panting and dripping with sweat. Alby looked over at Meg.

"Are you okay?" he panted.

Meg scrambled up to her feet. "Are you kidding me?" she shouted, her voice on the point of hysteria, "What _was_ that? We almost just got crushed by a hydraulic stone wall! Of course I'm not okay! I knew this wasn't a good idea…now how are we going to get out?"

"Hey! Hey!" Alby chanted, trying to calm Meg, "It's okay. We made it out and we will find our way back. It is going to be alright."

"Like hell it is!" Meg spat, "We just faced _death_ Alby! This is ludicrous!"

"I know," Alby said, his voice soothing and steady. He looked Meg over, noticing her elbows were bleeding from the wall. He reached out and took her arms gently. "Here, let me take a look."

She snatched her arm away. "Don't touch me," she growled and marched off, down the next part of the maze.

Alby sighed and followed her. They hadn't ventured to far into the maze and Alby hoped that they would be able to find their way out before dark. The last thing he wanted was to be trapped in a moving maze in the dark.

A few times they had to back track but eventually the pair found their way back to the Glade.

"I've never thought I would be so happy to see this place," Meg sighed as they entered the grassy clearing. She glanced at her elbows, then walked over to the supply pile. She pulled out some gauze and wrapped her bleeding joints.

Across the Glade, the alarm went off, signaling the box was making a delivery. Had another person arrived? Meg was uneasy about what the answer would be. She tied off the gauze and followed Alby to the box. The first set of doors opened and Alby pulled open the doors to the steel box, gazing inside.

He looked at Meg.

"It's another boy," he said. Meg walked over and looked inside.

The newest arrival sat hunched over in the corner of the box. He had long, shaggy brown hair and a round face. He was short, and looked younger than either Alby or Meg. He looked up at them, shaking and with tears in his eyes.

"Where am I?" he asked, his lips quivering in fear.


End file.
